A Traitor's Touch
by SpartanSister
Summary: Gawain is captured by Woads, and escapes by seducing a Druid's daughter...
1. Loyal Traitor

Title: Loyal Traitor

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Gawain is captured by Woads, and escapes death by seducing a Druid's daughter.

Author's Note: This began as a project for university…but you know how it is. This story is a dose of my usual, therefore quite strongly an NC-17…graphic sex, gorgeous men, situations that could be perceived as bondage…but I will not apologise for my imagination. It is a curse… sighs Go on, review, you know you want to…:P

(The use of the term _'citadel'_ is used to fit in with the context of which I write the legends…in my mind, the forest of Laddrwys overlooks Badon Hill. So it is a Woad fortress, looking over a Roman city/town/fortress.)

Gawain felt himself dragged into the enemy's earthen citadel. Rough hands gripped at his shoulders, shoving him to his knees, and he groaned aloud as he fell. His forehead rested against the muddy ground, and he heard distorted voices all around him, a quick foreign tongue that curled around each syllable like poison. The rough linen of his blindfold scratched against his face, and he tasted his own hair in his mouth. Where was he? In the woods of Laddrwys still? The savage territory? Any man who entered past the dead trees which surrounded it, soldier or not, would never return again. And if they did? Well, it was in the form of a decapitated head. Severed and thrust onto an iron spear, and warding off both enemy and friend alike.

Laddrwys was a cursed land. The last remaining fortress of angry heathens.

An unnatural growl sounded to the Sarmatian's side. Although from human or beast, Gawain was unsure. But indeed, he had little time to ponder upon it as a large and strong hand grabbed him by the hair, thrusting his face upwards to an unknown observer. The knight heard murmurs, the sound of blade hitting bone nearby, and then the comforting hiss of wind rushing through the trees. A leer marked his blood and mud-stained face, and his hair was released abruptly. So abruptly, that his head was thrust forwards again.

Snarling, Gawain turned to his unknown captor. He could not see, his hands were bound, and his body ached from defeat. A large wound on his shoulder was bleeding into the fabric of his tunic, and he bit back the pain. He had nothing left to lose…and he was not about to die like this. He was a Sarmatian knight, who fought with vigour and who didn't fear death; he attempted to struggle to his feet. If he were to die, it would be because he had fought and failed to surrender. Not bound and tethered like a misbehaved dog.

His efforts were silenced however, as a heavy staff struck him hard between the shoulder blades. He couldn't fight the gasp that escaped his lips as he fell forwards once again. And this time, he tasted blood.

"Why do you stray onto my soil, Sarmatian? Were the eyeless skulls of your comrades not enough to chill your soul?"

Gawain's anger and frustration fleeted quickly from his form, and he raised himself up warily. Turning his head, he tried to locate the voice. The voice which spoke mockingly, and in his own tongue. He could not deny the chant-like sound to it, the way it seemed to sing each word in a hard and rasping timbre. It was almost how he imagined a corpse to speak, had it woken up in hell.

Retorting, Gawain forced a bitter laugh. "Why do you bind a man before torturing him? Yours are coward's methods."

There was a silence, and no voice dared to speak. Gawain could have sworn to have heard several heathen's hold in a deep and afflicted breath, but indeed, this quiet was barely ephemeral. Angry shouts erupted around him, and Gawain smirked. The more trouble he could inflict upon the bastards, the better chance he would have of being untied and allowed to die like a warrior.

Hearing footsteps, Gawain sat up straight. His backside rested on the muddy backs of his boots, and he used nimble fingers to feel for the dagger that was hidden inside them.

"You think that I must blind you to torture you, child?" The voice drawled a cruel laugh, and Gawain spat on the ground. He opened his dry lips to curse, but was silenced as the speaker continued. "Nay. I would certainly let you see everything did I wish you to die slowly. For there is nothing more satisfying then seeing fear in your enemy's eyes…"

"Then un-blind me so that I can see the own fear in your face…moments before I slice you open and take your head back to Rome." Gawain paused, smiling grimly. "I'm sure I could offer them drinks from your skull, but I doubt they'd accept it."

"Drinking from a Druid's head brings good luck to his enemies, but is amusing to see you are familiar with our customs."

Gawain heard two figures move closer to him, and he tipped his forehead towards the ground. If he could jump quickly to his feet and spin on his heel, he might just succeed in knocking them both of them over, using his tied hands as a weapon. But indeed, what would he do next? He retorted again, attempting to bide the time to think…

"I am Sarmatian, a man of Artorius Castas. A Britain. I serve under Rome because it is my charge, a charge done by my parents, and my parent's parents. If you kill me, you do not kill a Roman."

A loud laugh echoed about the trees, and leaves rustled from every side. Gawain felt a chill attack his senses and he shivered sharply. That hadn't exactly been the reaction he had hoped for…

The dark voice spoke again, this time closer to his ear. He smelt the wreaking breath of his unknown captor, and wrinkled his nose against it. Both to mock him and to avoid the smell.

"Serving under a Roman makes you hostile company in my eyes, child. And you shall be punished for it. My men will cut you limb from limb, and I shall feed your soul to the dogs of the Gods."

A hard hand pushed against Gawain's face, and another gripped his head tightly. So tightly that the knight struggled to breathe, and felt his own consciousness fade. His green eyes widened, and he attempted to move away from the sudden pressure…to no avail. His legs kicked out awkwardly, attempting to knock away his attacker. But it was too late…He couldn't breathe…

"But first, you will surrender to me."

8888

Gawain sat alone, beaten and tied to a weeping willow. The distant sound of voices convinced him that he was far away from the Woad camp, and his captives visited only occasionally to spit insults and kick at his weary and defenceless body. On two nights, several children had visited him, and Gawain recognised their age through the childish taunts that were thrown. He'd laughed at their attempts, raising his knees and leaning back against the tree he'd been bound to. They wouldn't have dared raise a finger against a Sarmatian knight if he had an axe in his hand. But indeed, he had had strength back then.

Now his mouth was dry, and he had not tasted food for several days. He wondered that if his blindfold was removed, whether he would be able to see anyway. For his head hung limply against his chest, and he breathed in short raspy breaths. He was alive, but only barely…

His mind strayed back to Badon, back to the knights in the tavern. Back to the large mugs of ale which decorated the tabletops like jewellery on a market stall. Feeling his stomach growl, he licked his lips.

A footstep in the undergrowth caught his attention, and he raised his head sharply.

"What bastard is it this time?" He spat, although his words lacked their usual vigour and threat. He was weary, too weary to engage in violent conversation. "Go tell Merlin that I still live, and that the blood in my veins grows thicker at the prospect of removing his head!"

Gawain received no answer, and frowned darkly. He threw back his head, resting it against the rough bark of the willow tree, listening. Through the gentle breezes that caressed the leaves above him, he could make out small and delicate footsteps on the earthen ground, and he heard them move slowly around the tree. Indeed, Woads were trained to move as such. Like ghosts, they were not seen until too late…but this one was clumsier then the others. And Gawain smirked as realisation hit.

"You are a woman." He stated. A lazy and tired smile crossed his lips.

A light laugh sounded from beside him, and Gawain knew he'd assumed right. There was no hostility in her voice, no cruelty or ill intention, and the mere sound was music to his ears. If he'd heard such a laugh at Badon, he would have followed the owner of it around all night…before seducing her to his bed. But not now. He was tied, unable to move, and yet he was still living enough to pursue his curiosity.

"How you know?" The woman asked with a clumsy grasp of his language, and Gawain knew she was close. He heard the rustle of fabric beside him, and summoned enough strength to raise his knees upwards.

"Because you don't stink like your brothers."

The woman laughed again, and Gawain relaxed the smile from his face. It was then however, that he felt the hard edge of a bowl on his lips. The utensil was tipped upwards, and the silky coolness of water rushed over his mouth. He groaned against the fluid, gulping down as much as he could take. This was not a lot though, and the woman soon withdrew it to stop the man from choking. His throat burned, but the pain was somewhat pleasurable. Almost a release.

Letting out a rattled breath, he licked his lips. He felt his tongue become supple again, and he smiled.

"I could kiss you for that."

There was silence again, but the woman did not move. Gawain could hear her quiet breaths beside him, and heard the quiet chink of the bowl as it was placed to the ground. He waited, unsure of what to expect next. Had she only replenished his thirst to then feed him the dusty dirt of the woodland ground, or maybe she'd come to cut out his tongue? Gawain clamped his lips firmly shut.

"I would wash your face. You allow it?" She spoke timidly, and Gawain breathed out a sigh of relief. So she was not here to remove his tongue…

But still, she was a Woad. And part of the clan that held him captive, part of the clan that had beaten him most nights and allowed him to live to the edge of starvation. Frowning suddenly, he spoke reproachfully. "Why?"

"Your face is…i_has/i _mud on it, and blood too. Your blood. Blood from your wound." The answer was innocent, and her voice honest. Gawain sensed the ignorance behind her words, heard it in each sentence she struggled to form coherently. He heard her hands dip into the bowl of water, and understood her reasoning for wanting to save some.

"That was not what I asked." He spoke, his voice serious and slightly bolder from the drink. He could feel the coolness of it in his belly, and he would have sighed aloud, had it not been for the woman so nearby. If he had nothing else, he had his pride.

An impatient groan escaped her lips, and she clicked her tongue before answering. "You ask too many questions when I want to help you."

Gawain laughed bitterly, sensing the awkwardness in her voice. Somehow, he doubted that she was supposed to be here.

"If you wish to help me, then take the blindfold off…so that I can see the goodly spirit that comes to my aid."

The woman ignored his words, and Gawain merely smiled. He would have retorted further, had it not been for the sudden feel of her wet palms upon his cheeks, stroking and caressing the dirt from his skin. It felt good, and the water ran down into his beard. The Woad smoothed her thumbs over his cheekbones, and finally up over the bridge of his nose. Groaning aloud, he tipped to head back against the tree to give her better access.

Shifting in her seat, Gawain heard the woman shuffle forwards, and in that moment, he saw the map of his escape. If he could beckon her close enough, then he might just be able to use his legs to grip and hold her hostage. He could press his knees against her throat, break it like a twig…well at least threaten to. He would force her to untie him first, and her body would have to be pressed up close for that. Not an entirely bad notion…

Smiling, Gawain put his plan to action.

"My wound…" He started, shuffling against the tree trunk. "If it is not cleaned, it will become infected."

Gawain felt her withdraw her hands from his face, and he turned his head in her direction. Oh, if only he could see…

"Please?" He probed, biting his bottom lip for effect. "I have seen warrior's wounds when they get infected. They begin to rot, and can eventually give them fever…"

Still, no answer.

Gawain grew impatient, and his voice took on a harder and more derisive tone. "If Merlin wants me alive for my dismemberment, then you had best do as I ask. If it becomes infected, woman, I will be dead in two days. Maybe less."

"Merlin may destroy you tonight, or tomorrow morning!" The Woad spat, and Gawain heard her hurry to her feet. She knocked the bowl of water over in the process, and the knight felt the fluid seep into his breeches.

"Wait!" Gawain called out, realising that his only chance of escape was about to flee back into the forest. He kicked his legs out flat, sighing loudly and praying that the woman had actually stopped in her tracks. "At least take the blindfold off. So that I may see my last night on this earth?"

The Sarmatian could not fail to smile as he heard the woman's footsteps once more, striding impatiently in his direction. Kneeling between his legs, he felt her breath on his face as she leant around to untie his blindfold. He attempted to concentrate on his legs, trying to calculate when would be the best time to trap her between them…but he was distracted. Distracted because she leant so close to his face, and her breaths brushed against his lips as she fiddled clumsily with the knot.

When the fabric was finally loosened, the woman withdrew it slowly from his face. Gawain had not realised that his eyes had been closed all the time, and opened them only when the blindfold was gone. His thickly lashed eyes fluttered open, and his green eyes behold the beauty in front of him.

The woman was unmistakably beautiful, and nothing akin to the whores of Badon. No, her face was small and round, her eyes a sharp and innocent blue which seemed to look at the ground when she caught him staring. She was something of a fairy's child, her small pink lips pouted in a coltish fashion, and her dark and unruly hair hung about her face in rivets. Her skin was painted a dark blue, as was the small animal pelt that covered her body.

"Do not look at me." She whispered, her gaze set on the earth. She did not however, move from between his legs, and he raised his knees slowly.

"Why?" He asked, an amused smile teasing at his lips as he readied his legs for their attack. "I did not ever think she see such a beautiful Woad, especially one who speaks my tongue…"

A rose blush spread over her cheeks, and Gawain cocked his head the side. For some reason, he felt suddenly much better, and he cast a glance down to his knees.

"Perhaps I should take you with me when I escape…?"

The Woad looked up suddenly, but it was too late. Gawain lifted his legs up over her shoulders, trapping her neck between his kneecaps. She let out a child-like squeal of protest, before attempting to lift her hands. The knight shut his legs closer to each other, putting more pressure on her neck and locking her arms underneath them. She curled her hands around to his thighs, attempting to scratch him…but indeed, he merely laughed at her efforts. His breeches were thick, and for once he had something to thank the British weather for.

"Scream and I'll break your neck." He growled, watching as she stopped struggling against him. She drew her hands away from his thighs, resting them in the mud beneath them.

The woman narrowed her eyes at the knight, and Gawain shrugged his shoulders. He used his legs to pull her as close as possible, feeling as she resisted his movements. Though it was to no avail. He dragged her forwards on her knees, and pulled lightly at the bond that tied his hands.

"Now if you'd be so kind, my little rescuer…" The woman narrowed her eyes as he spoke, and he continued with the same roguish grin. "Untie my hands and you can go free."

"You will kill me if I do. You cannot have me return to the others, I know."

Gawain raised his eyebrows, tightening his grip on her throat. The Woad let out a chocked cough and retched violently as a result, and the knight relaxed his knees soon after. "You're right, I might. But I've never made a habit of killing women…especially ones as pretty as you."

The Woad bore her top lip back in a snarl.

"And less of that, too." Gawain warned.

The Woad ignored his threat, but did indeed cease struggling. She frowned, apparently in consideration of his words, before grinning like a contented child.

She spoke. "You will have to let me go if you want to be freed. I cannot do it like this."

"Yes, you can. You will lean around me and do it, understand?"

A wicked grin marked the knight's mouth, and he watched her own disappear…

Only moments later the fair Woad was pressed up against him, her breasts hard against his chest as she attempted to blindly undo the rope. His legs were wrapped hard around her middle, cradling her groin to his, and he couldn't help but stare at her as she frowned. Concentrating on undoing the rope. Her chin brushed against his cheek as she pulled the rope free, and Gawain fought from pressing his lips to her bare neck. He merely watched the muscles move under her skin.

As soon as his hands were free, he wrenched the rope away. The Woad attempted to hurry to her feet, but Gawain grabbed her wrists tightly, before using the tree to propel himself forwards. His legs were still braced around her body, and he pushed her easily onto her back. Tightening his thighs around her and trapping his body against hers, he pinned her to the ground.

A look of sheer panic crossed her expression, and all signs of amusement had disappeared from the Sarmatian's face. He looked down at her, his green eyes boring into her own.

He cleared his throat to speak. "I do believe I owe you."

Gawain knew he should flee while he still had the chance, but what to do with the woman? The time it would take her to warn the others would not be sufficient enough for him to escape, and he had no idea where he was. Where the others were…

"I should have bled you like a pig!" She cursed, although her voice was low and not nearly as confident as before. Gawain watched as she kept her gaze fixed on his chest, not daring to meet his gaze…she was frightened. And better still, her low tone betrayed her words.

Grinning at her pathetic insult, he dipped his lips to her mouth. He kissed her, hard and forceful, and felt her struggle beneath him. Smiling against her mouth, he continued to kiss and suckle at her closed lips. Groaning aloud, he felt his lower stomach tighten, and drew his mouth away before he lost all control. It wouldn't do to push her too far…

The Woad woman ceased her movements, and relaxed her wrists in his hands. Her eyes had been closed when he'd kissed her, and she opened them somewhat lazily. Gawain smirked, touching his nose to hers. "Do you have a name, my blue protector?"

"Madwen." The Woad answered, her voice a whisper.

Gawain considered leaving her then, leaving her alive, but his body screamed at him to stay. She may have struggled against his kisses, but she was looking at his lips now, her gaze dreamy and her forehead set in a deep frown. Before the knight knew what he was doing, he'd captured her mouth in his once more. He kissed her gently now, stroking his tongue over her lips and teasing them open. Madwen whimpered aloud when the edge of his tongue touched hers, and Gawain began to draw his palms down the insides of her arms.

It was a risk, he knew it, but he wanted to touch her. He wanted to taste every bit of her blue flesh…and she did not attack him. She merely wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, arching her breasts into his chest and coaxing a loud growl from his throat. His hands ran down to her waist slowly, and he circled it in his grip, raising himself from her body to allow his hands the chance to explore. He lifted them to her face instead, cupping her jaw lightly and drawing his lips down over her chin.

"I am your enemy." He breathed, sucking suddenly at the skin on her neck. His thumbs caressed her face softly, and he buried his hands deep in her hair. He tugged her head back, giving himself better access to the tender skin of her shoulders.

She did not speak, did not answer his statement, and instead breathed deeply and hoarsely beneath him. Another whimper escaped her perfect lips, and Gawain groaned in response. He nipped playfully at her collarbone, before licking the area with his tongue.

Madwen had never been with a man before, and she found herself quickly becoming lost in the Sarmatian's touch. He had deceived her, prayed upon her desire to aid one who was suffering... She had seen the others taunting him, and watched as his energy and spirit rotted away like dead flesh. If he was to be killed, then why not do it sooner? Why leave him to suffer? She did not see the good it could accomplish, and so had become the deceiver herself.

And now…She felt the roguish knight run his hands down to the top of her pelt, and he began to peel it away from her body, revealing her flesh bit by bit. His calloused fingertips brushed along her skin, drawing out an intense pleasure that ached to be indulged further. Indeed, she knew nothing of bodily pleasures, but this man was showing her the possibilities. His hot breath on her neck, his moistened lips teasing and sucking at her body…

Gawain pulled the fur down with the greatest of ease, drawing his lips over every area of skin as it was revealed. He stopped undressing her to suckle hard on one of her nipples, grazing its peek with his teeth and using his free hand to roll the other with his fingertips. Arching her back into him, Gawain smirked against her breast, before placing one hand firmly on her thigh. How long had it been since he'd felt a woman aching for him to take her? And a Woad? Murmuring against his skilled touch, whispering sweet denials upon her coltish mouth…

He drew his fingers up the pelt lazily, feeling the heat radiate from her sex but desiring to draw her out as long as possible. Moving his mouth to the other breast, he licked the tip, delighting in the deep moan that growled from the bottom of her stomach. Sucking hard on the nub, he then drew his mouth away, climbing back up her body and moving his hand to the inside of her thigh. He drew his fingertips in a lazy circle, watching as she curled her arms around his neck once more.

Her face was a picture of pure need, and Gawain pressed another kiss to her already swollen lips.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he growled against her mouth, watching her lips and fighting back from kissing her again. He wanted to plunder her mouth with his tongue, and bury himself deep inside her sweet body. "I am Gawain…and you must remember that name, my pretty Madwen. I feel that it might be easier to scream out. Easier to say, you see…"

Madwen frowned at his words, attempting to follow his speech but failing. His voice was deep and clouded with arousal, and she yearned to believe that it was she who'd made it so. She did however, understand his name, and she repeated it softly into his mouth.

"Gawain. Gawain…mine enemy."

The Sarmatian cocked an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I like it."

Gawain silenced his lover with another kiss, before pressing his fingertips along her maidenhood. She panted suddenly against his lips, and Gawain withdrew to truly watch her…to see each wave of pleasure fall over her expression. Indeed, his own eyes had darkened with the intensity of his touch, and he pressed his fingers inside of her, gently at first. He felt her legs kick out suddenly, and Gawain held his other hand to her thigh, watching as her eyes rolled back into her head. She was breathing hard, panting, as each finger slid in and out of her warmth, coaxing moan upon moan from her virgin body.

He drew his thumb over the outside of her clit, applying enough pressure to force a small scream from the women. He kissed her again in an attempt to quieten her…just let the Woads try and interrupt this, he warned. If they would not satisfy his hunger for food, then they could satisfy his other needs…Madwen was a welcome release.

Smiling against her mouth, he removed his hand to drag the animal pelt from her body. He cupped her bottom, lifting her upwards to remove the material before settling her back onto the ground. She was naked now, and he allowed his hands to wonder again, sliding up the muscular length of her thigh and circling to knead her buttocks in his hands. He kissed down her throat again, holding her groin to his and bucking his hips to hers. He would hear her beg for him before he filled her, he would hear his own name fall from her lips as though it were the most important thing on this earth…

Dragging his mouth down the valley between her breasts, he moved down her body slowly. His tongue traced the small line of her naval, sucking at the skin before resting just above her maidenhood. His strong hands tightened on her buttocks, lifting the brown curls of her sex to his lips. He drew his tongue over her, before sucking gently on one of her lips.

The Woad woman arched her back into his touch, and her fingers bit into the dirt as she fought from screaming out. If her people ever found her out she would be killed, put to death, put to death for experiencing and welcoming such pleasures as these…Let them kill me, she groaned, and let this man continue to torture me thus.

A whimper escaped her mouth, and she moved her hands to his hair. Tangling her fingers in the mass of braids and waves, she bucked her hips to his lips…urging him on, willing him to continue, to touch, to taste her. "Oh gods," she moaned, pressing her head hard into the ground.

The knight heard her words and suckled hard against her maidenhood, tracing his tongue over the heat of her sex in gentle circles and then harder lines. Her moans were music to his ears, and it satisfied him to think that each sound was strummed from his own touch. His groin tightened painfully, and he growled against her body, his fingertips biting lustfully into the woman's buttocks. He would have to take her now, soon, if he was to last to feel her warmth…

Nipping her with his teeth, she felt his beard brush against her. His lips then moved away from her sex, and Madwen was left trembling, her hands still in his hair as he climbed back up her body. The woman tilted her head to the side, her eyelids fluttering open slowly and her blue eyes shadowed and intensified with lust. With a need for him that seemed to disregard all sense. Her lower lip trembled, and she spoke up to him.

"Lie with me, Gawain. I desire to feel your flesh deep inside me."

Gawain laughed low, his voice deep with arousal. His hands gripped one of her own, and he brought it down to rest upon the laces of his breeches. "Then free me again, Madwen. And we shall see the effect you have on your captive…"

The Woad did not acknowledge Gawain's cheeky words, and instead moved her fingers hesitantly over his laces. Her hand brushed the hard and large swell of his manhood, and she withdrew herself a moment, apparently summoning the courage to reveal him. The knight watched her bite her lower lip, and knelt to kiss the frown that marked her forehead.

"I do not bite." He smiled, placing a hand over hers and forcing it to hold his erection. She gasped slightly, and Gawain entwined his fingers in hers, using them to pull blindly at the strings. "But I cannot pleasure you as I would like…if you don't…" The strings pulled open easier then he'd expected, and he smiled as her hand fumbled more confidently now. Her fingers slid into the fabric, pushing it down as she grasped his manhood fully in her hands.

"Oh, Madwen." He murmured, kissing her hungrily. He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth, a growl lying deep in his throat. "Feel how it grows hard for you?"

Gawain pressed his face into her neck as she began to stroke him slowly. Her hold was clumsy at first, and reluctant too, but eventually she regained skill and drove him easily to the edge. Her fingertips circled his head in small circles, whilst her other hands moved in quick strokes along his length. She heard the knight groan, and felt his hot breath on her ear.

"You tease me, Madwen. Oh for the love of the gods, you tease me." His lips brushed over her lobe, and he sucked on it gently. "My blue woman…"

Madwen smiled darkly, her blue eyes pleased and confessing some form of arrogance. She felt the knight's manhood, throbbing in her hand, and lifted her legs to wrap hard around his waist. Indeed, in the very same fashion that he had done earlier…when he had been threatening to choke her last breath. Her feet locked together under his backside, and she released him suddenly, running her hands up his arms to rest upon his cloth-covered shoulders.

Gawain however, winced. Her fingers had gripped his wound, and he gasped loudly. The Woad women released him, and Gawain held himself steady for a moment, catching his breath as he looked down at her. He saw the fear in her eyes, fear that she had harmed him, and he forced a laugh. Resting his groin down to hers, he teased her entrance with his member.

"Just a scratch, Madwen. A gift from your brothers…"

The knight did not wait for a reply, kissing her suddenly and sliding his shaft into her warmth. Her short gasp of pain was deafened by his kisses, and he bucked harder into her, eager to replace the hurt with pure need. And he was successful. Madwen arched her back into his body, and her legs tightened round his waist. She wanted him. She had him, and Gawain broke the kiss to watch the waves of pleasure assault her senses.

Her eyes were closed, and she gripped the man's neck, careful not to touch the wound. For a moment, she'd felt despair at having hurt him. For having hurt someone who was risking his life to give her such hedonistic pleasures…but now, now that the man was moving inside her, sheaving himself in her small body, she trembled from the intensity of it. He braced his arms above her head, pulling himself harder and faster into her.

Gawain buried his head in her shoulder, feeling the light pinch of her fingers on his neck. He moaned something into her skin as he slammed his pelvis to hers again, his hips grinding hers at an angry pace. He heard her whimper his name, and her head tilted back. His breaths caught in his throat when he saw the passion on her face, feeling himself approach his own climax. He breathed in hoarsely, dragging one hand down to her buttocks to thrust harder into her.

As if from nowhere, the knight groaned aloud, bucking hard into her body as he felt himself go over the edge. He repeated her name through raspy breaths, tilting his head to her shoulder again and catching it rough between his teeth. His groaning was loud, and he muffled them against her skin, before collapsing suddenly upon her. He felt her small body spasm beneath him, heard her own meek cry.

"I shall have to tell the men…" He panted, struggling to form his words. "…That making love to your women, is far better then killing them…"

Madwen's eyes opened suddenly at his last comment, and she pushed the man roughly from her. How dare he? Who in the gods did he think he was? He had strayed onto their territory, challenged both the gods will and her people, and now…now…now she had allowed him to touch her. She watched in anger as the knight rose lazily to his feet, beginning to knot his breeches up tightly. Snorting, she clambered to her hands and knees, snatching the animal pelt from the ground and holding it suddenly against her naked body.

"You disgust me!" She spat, her legs still trembling from his touch.

She watched the man look up from his clothing, and flash a wolfish grin. Gawain allowed his gaze to sweep down the length of her, taking in the rather amusing attempt to cover herself up. Ah, she was a woman…there was no sense in any of them, Sarmatian or Woad.

"No use covering yourself up, love." He laughed, striding back over to her. "Seen it already…"

Gawain saw the indignation which crossed her expression, and grabbed her hard against him before she could retort. He pressed his mouth hungrily to hers, feeling her instantly stiffen against him and he laughed devilishly into her lips. Feeling for the animal pelt, he tore it away quickly.

It was only then that he released her, winking playfully as she went to grab the material back. The knight snatched it away, holding it to his chest as he backed away from the naked Woad. Time to leave…

"I'll be keeping this…just incase you decide to warn the others of my escape…"


	2. The Song of Battle

Title: Loyal Traitor – Part 2 – The Song of Battle

Rating: NC- 17…of course ;)

Author Notes: Wow, what fantastic reviews – honestly guys, each and every one was highly appreciated! It's been a LONG time since I posted, and I really wanna make a longer story of this. So review, and let me know if you want me to :)

"You look like shit."

For all the welcoming and concerned words he might have heard, those were the first. Gawain stumbled into Badon Hill a full day after his escape, his body screaming from thirst and hunger. Indeed, the fruits of Madwen's generosity had been enough to sate him for a few hours, but never more than a day. He'd made camp at Sundown, because he found himself lost. Bloody lost! It was all brambles, and twisted tree trunks...and shadows. Too many shadows. Had his blue woman warned Merlin of their loss? A Sarmatian was not a valuable captive, but it would surely inspire anger on Artorius' part. Gawain was unsure, but a familiar smirk twitched at his lips when he thought about it. He'd left Madwen at that tree, naked...

A wide smile shaped his mouth, and he pressed a heavy hand to Lancelot's shoulder. He leant his whole weight against the dark knight.

"Missed you too, Lancey."

*

Seven Sarmatian horses stood knee deep in grass. A vast plain of green stretched outwards towards the dark forest, giving the illusion of movement as a wave of wind swept along the grassland. Coiled tendrils of breath travelled upward from equine nostrils, and all the men sat mounted in silent contemplation. It was cold, deathly cold, and the hard winds of Britain bit against their pale cheeks. Strong hands gripped weapons made for one purpose, and all held their breaths. A bow string had been pulled taut inside them, and waited to be released. A fury, a skill, a murderous bow that each one had been trained to bestow.

All pairs of eyes looked to the black trees of Laddrwys, watching, waiting…The empty skulls that surrounded the enemy threshold stared back at them, their crumbling teeth seeming to curl into sadistic grins. The heads of their own kin, and numerous Roman centurions, had been crushed onto wooden spikes. A warning.

Arthur withdrew Excalibur slowly, coaxing a throaty howl as the sword was pulled from its sheath. His fingers tightened around its solid hilt.

Gawain's lips moved, a silent prayer to his Gods. His green eyes stared blankly ahead, and the ghost-like fog simpered over his face. Casting a strange light upon his pale cheeks. He blinked once, steadily, before twitching his feet in his stirrups. This was the price to pay for testing Sarmatian mettle. Merlin's heathens were brave, passionate, and driven by only one dire cause...but each knight had a heart beat as strong as the sharpest blade, and they were growing impatient. The horses stamped anxiously, and Gawain's fingers tightened into his leather rein.

Just one sign….Just one small movement to suggest the enemy's whereabouts…

It came.

A single arrow flew high overhead, an acknowledgement of the battle to follow. Arthur's clear gaze followed its arch in the sky, and he nodded his head curtly. The enemy were there, hiding behind wood and leaf in an insulting and negligent wait of war. The light of the dull Sun glinted against his golden armour, and he shifted in his saddle. His gentle features were hard, almost cruel, and for a single moment, he seemed to become one with the Sarmations. The Commander shouted, loudly, and Gawain's horse reared onto its hind legs.

"Ruuuuusssss!"

***

Gawain's bloodied fingers brushed aside the opening to the tent, and he stepped inside silently. He'd waited all night to slip away from the others, having listened to Lancelot's boastful tales too many times already. No, his thoughts did not lie with the whores of Badon, nor the Romans who liked to lose their money playing at dice. His thoughts strayed to the hostage tent, from which he could see candlelight flickering from the inside. His green gaze had cast upwards frequently, darting across the campfire to where his hostage was being kept. He was growing impatient, and the flickering flames of the fire caused shadows to dance across his dangerous features. How long could Lancelot chatter for? How long could he wait to see her....?

What in the Gods name was she doing here? Although in truth, it made sense that she was fighting. Gawain had seen many women wielding weapons against the Sarmatians, and indeed, they became quite fearful creatures when wielding an axe or spear in their delicate hands. He and Bors had always had a secret fantasy of a blue woman with a blade, her eyes blazing with fury as she attacked. That was of course, prior to his meeting with Madwen…

He remembered Merlin's harsh words to him, the taunting of his homeland, being tied to a tree….and then the cool sensation of water rushing into his open mouth. Madwen had saved him that day, however reluctant he was to admit it…and now he felt indebt to the little woman.

_She'd sprung out from nowhere, blocking his path with her small and agile figure. Her mouth had roared a primitive scream, and Gawain was ready for attack. Her body was clad in tight bindings. At first, Gawain had not recognised her, and was blinded by the dark war paint, the messy and matted hair that used to be so perfectly curled…so soft against his face as he'd buried his teeth into her shoulders and spilled his seed within her. But now? She charged at him, and Gawain caught her spear with his axe, metal scraping against metal as it was pushed roughly to the side…_

_Madwen stumbled forwards, and Gawain shoved her back roughly. She fell awkwardly, and there was a snap of bone. Quiet, but there. Her ankle collapsed, and she tumbled onto her back. Gawain's body sang with the adrenaline of battle, and his blood pulsed violently within him, pressing him forwards for the kill. He pressed a booted foot to her broken ankle, hearing the Woad scream beneath his weight, and then he raised his axe for her face…_

_And then she'd turned over. Turned over onto her back and truly looked at him. Recognition had flashed across her face quicker than a breath, and she cried out fearfully, recoiling suddenly and covering her face with her bloodied hands. Gawain didn't know what to do. The aim of his axe faltered, and hit the ground with a thud. He lifted his foot from her small ankle, and got to his knees. What was he doing? Helping the enemy? Saving the woman who had attempting to kill him? Gawain's barbaric mouth shaped a growl, and he scooped his arms beneath her trembling body, lifting her into his sweaty embrace. She didn't squirm once, nor fight against him…and instead wrapped her arms about his neck tightly, sobbing hysterically into his neck. _

_Battle was no place for a woman. _

Indeed, he'd received strange looks when he took her back to Arthur. Lancelot cocked a perfect eyebrow in his direction, his dark eyes swarming over the girl with lusty interest. Gawain merely growled in response, dropping her suddenly at Arthur's feet and walking off.

As Gawain entered the tent, he cursed his own curiosity. He wanted to see his captive, and his mind reeled with impatience, confusion. She was a bitch, feisty as hell, and she'd tried to kill him...but now? She looked helpless, useless. She was bound to one of the tent's holdings, and her head hung limp against her chest. Her eyes were shut, and her blue lips parted to breathe. She looked pathetic, and her muddy hair fell messily over her face. Having tucked one foot underneath her buttocks, she stretched her other leg out awkwardly. Her broken ankle was crooked, her foot bent awkwardly and out of place. He had expected her to be crying in pain, in anguish, but she was silent. Broken. His green gaze dropped for a moment, and moved quietly to where she sat.

Dropping to his knees beside her, he placed two bloodied fingers to her chin. He lifted her face to him, and she groaned loudly against his touch.

"I was wondering when I see you again." She spoke, her voice hard and rasped. Her throat was bruised, and Gawain used to his other hand to brush his fingers over the mottled skin. Had he inflicted that? He didn't remember doing it…But it looked angry none the less, and felt fevered against his fingertips. Whoever had inflicted it...she was lucky to still have a head.

Madwen felt the knight's hands on her throat, and she opened her eyes slowly. The Sarmatian watched her pupils darken against the shadows, and he observed the change in her eyes. She looked…colder, aged, and weary. Indeed, he had barely noticed how the blue paint made her appear harder and less welcoming, and he wrinkled his nose when he saw the dried blood on her lips. She looked like a barbarian, a heathen woman who welcomed death with open arms.

"A Roman put his hands on my throat. I didn't like him; I spilled his guts to the grass."

Gawain raised his eyebrows at her words, and his lips twitched into a smile. Her manner was as blunt as he remembered, and her defiant words still managed to stir something within his loins. Releasing her throat gently, he dropped his hands from her body. "You could have died out there."

"So could you." She spoke indignantly, before coughing violently. Her whole body wretched forwards, and Gawain thrust a waterskin to her lips. She looked at him, suspicious, before curling her lips around the top of it. It was a gesture she remembered, a simple action which promised temporary safety from cruelty's grasp. Drinking down the liquid, she felt Gawain's hands on her chin, cupping her face backwards to allow her to drink a little easier. What did he want? To help her? To humiliate her again? He had looked truly fearful caught up in war, his green eyes hard and his lips curling into a growl. She remembered the flash of his axe as he'd contemplated slicing her face with it. She remembered her own scream of terror…

"You should have killed me." She stated, turning her lips from the waterskin. Gawain withdrew it from her, and laughed at her coltishness.

"I only kill those I consider a threat, or an insult to my ego." He smiled slightly, before sitting cross-legged beside her. Lifting the drink to his own mouth, he slurped the rest of the water down himself, before wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "And I think we've already established that you are neither."

He winked at the Woad, watching the lack of amusement on her face. Indeed, she had not changed at all, and her lips set into an even harder line. Her grey eyes watched him intently, and she remained deathly silent. She lacked the vigour of her former self, and Gawain blamed battle for this. The bitter smile of war either made you stronger, or destroyed you completely, and Gawain had seen many of his brothers fall prey to insanity. He'd seen men mess themselves in the face of the enemy, seen large men run screaming from the battlefield, only to be speared down by his own comrades. It took a certain sort of person to stare death in the face, and Gawain doubted that any woman was capable.

The Sarmatian's hand rested upon his knee, and he drummed his fingertips there. "I didn't kill you, Madwen, because you were frightened of me. And unlike the fair Romans, I don't get a thrill from breaking already broken men." He paused, resting his chin upon his hand. "I don't like slaughter, and I know you don't either."

"You know nothing about me, slave!" Madwen screeched suddenly, pulling hard against her bindings.

She pushed her face forwards, but Gawain remained unflinching. Leaning forwards, he moved closer to her. Her mouth was shaped with a snarl, and she bared blue teeth at the Sarmatian, challenging him with wild eyes.

"If you wanted slaughter, my blue woman," Gawain spoke, the timbre of his voice both low and dangerous. He tipped his head to the side, looking at her lips. "Then you would have killed me long ago…"

The Sarmatian moved forwards quickly, catching her hair in his hands and pressing his mouth to hers. It was hard kiss, desperate but unfeeling. He did not tease her lips apart, nor opened his own, and he felt her struggle beneath him. She tried to pull her head away, but Gawain held her firm to his lips. Opening his eyes briefly, he saw that hers remained closed, and he pulled away sharply. His bloodied fingers remained in her hair…and Madwen's eyes were closed.

He regarded her expression with a dark look. Her features seemed schooled to calm, and her lips opened slowly.

"You should have taken me with you." She whispered, before allowing her eyes to flutter open. It was only then that Gawain saw the tears in their blue depths, the despair and horror that plagued her. Her bottom lip trembled, and Gawain pulled away quickly. Getting to his feet, the Woad looked up at him, pleading. "If you believe you are in any debt to me at all, then kill me now."

The woman before him choked back a sob, and Gawain moved closer to her, ready to crouch down again. Only he didn't, he saw the desperation in her face, the desire for death trembling as her body. Hysteria.

Shaking his head, the knight turned away from her. "Goodnight, Madwen."


	3. Saving Your Bloody Life

(OOC – Again, thanks for the AMAZING reviews! This was originally going to remain a one-chapter ficlet, but you guys have convinced me to continue it. I hope you're enjoying the extensions. Please please please keep reviewing; I really like hearing your feedback. It's wonderful. Keep it coming!

Madwen desired death. There was nothing worse than being captured by the enemy, and becoming their plaything. She had heard stories of Roman cruelty; how they abused and broke female Woads for daring to think themselves strong. Rome did not understand the potential of women, and they mocked their barbaric warpaint and tribal markings. As Madwen sat in the enemy's camp, these horror stories assaulted her mind. Her rationality. She had been dragged into this tent, and tied roughly to the central post. She was Rome's prisoner, there was no denying it, and she had to escape. Her blue eyes fluttered open, and the darkness caught in their depths. Her gaze was hard, penetrating, as she sought for a way out. The tent's opening was too far away, and Gawain's retreat had made her furious. Why had he not helped her? She had allowed him to escape Merlin, and now he kept her here, tied up like an animal? Madwen's lips parted in a harsh breath, and she bit her tongue hard, forcing back a sob.

This was wrong.

**

The fire burnt low to a glimmering ash, ablaze with the last heat of its flame. The camp was darkening, and Gawain pulled his furs tighter about his shoulders. He sat, glaring into the fire. The glittering embers reflected in the emerald depth of his stare, and he breathed a hot mist from his lips. It was cold. Bloody British Winters. It was an unforgiving season, and Gawain was freezing. He glanced around at his comrades in arms, and gave a short laugh as Galahad began to sneeze. Gawain could not remember the last full night's sleep he'd had, and it galled him. He was alert, awake, and yet it was not the threat of attack that concerned him. No, it was the pretty little Woad sitting a few feet away in a tent, bound tight and unable to escape. The Sarmatian leant down and brushed his fingertips over the muddy ground, rubbing it into his palms. An amused smile touched his mouth, and he glanced over in her direction. In this light, he could almost see her silhouette...

A proud chin, full breasts and long slender legs. Although covered in mottled war paint, she was still pleasing to look at...

"It's a shame you broke her ankle before you caught her," Lancelot drawled from across the fire. "She'd be a good way to pass the time. I like a woman with a little spirit."

Gawain did not react. Oh Lancelot wanted a reaction, but the Sarmatian lacked the patience. He turned slowly back to the fire, and laughed shortly, dryly. "You mean, she can't run away from you?" Gawain looked up at the dark knight, and saw the shadows flicker against his arrogant and handsome features. Lancelot was a swine, and yet an undeniable talent with women. Gawain did not understand it, nor did he care to. Lancelot could fuck who he pleased...but not Madwen. Not the blue woman whom Gawain had broken and captured for himself. The dark knight's words annoyed him, and yet he did not know why. Madwen was simply a Woad, and the bitch had tried to kill him. Why should he feel protective? He knew not, but he got slowly to his feet. "I'm going for a piss."

**

The female Woad awoke in the darkest pit of Badon Hill's dungeons. The stone was wet beneath her, and coated in damp and muddy hay. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she breathed a rasped and broken sigh. It was dark, and the only light came from flaming torches outside her cell. Madwen growled angrily. She did not remember being brought here, nor did she remember falling asleep. She had been unknowingly exhausted, and it irritated her! She had planned to escape, and now she was truly trapped. Pressing a thin hand against the wall behind her, she attempted to stand. Her broken ankle was useless, and hung limply against the ground. Madwen groaned in agony, pulling herself upwards. She had almost reached her full height, when her palm slipped against the wall. The stone was wet, sodden, and Madwen cried out as she fell. She screamed in pain as she hit the ground, and rolled awkwardly. This was...horrible! She would surely be left here to die, to rot.

"Careful. The walls are wet." A deep voice jested nearby, and Madwen looked up through her filthy hair. There were bars at the end of her cell, and she squinted through the darkness. Gawain? The Sarmatian knight was clearly finding great amusement in her present situation. Madwen bared her teeth at him, and spat on the floor. With a backwards glance, she pulled herself against the wall, and attempted to huddle in the corner. Away from harm's way.

"You mock me." She growled, looking at him darkly. The pain on her face was visible beneath the smudged paint, and she appeared quite barbaric. Madwen's blue eyes gleamed out through her thick and tangled hair, and Gawain likened her to an animal. Lancelot was right, she had spirit. But Madwen had given up. Speaking again, she touched her ankle tenderly. "You come here to gloat? To see me broken? Look on then. I am hurt. You should be pleased."

Gawain sat outside the cell, on Arthur's orders. She must be treated as a prisoner-of-war, but not harmed. No, Arthur was a good man. He was unlike most Romans, and yet Gawain doubted Madwen knew that. The Sarmatian hated the dungeons, but he was content enough. Madwen was technically his ward no? A grim smile touched his dry mouth, and the knight reached down to the tankard of ale at his feet. He felt Madwen's eyes burn into him as he drank, hungrily. The ale coated his mouth, and he licked his lips, tasting it. Gods, but they had been away from the fortress for too long. His comrades were celebrating in the tavern, and yet Gawain was here, overseeing a prisoner's welfare. It was amusing. The knight sat on the raised edge of the cell, leaning against the rusty bars. He pulled his leg onto the wall, and drew a dagger from the inside of his boot. With careful dexterity, he began turning the blade in his palm. Silently.

"You are usually full of words." Madwen spoke again, and Gawain turned to look at her.

"Are you nervous? Is that why you won't shut up?" He spoke with an amused lilt, and tipped his head cockily to the side. He was in no mood for speaking. In truth, he did not know what to say. He should have allowed Madwen to go free, and yet she had attacked him. His duty conflicted with personal interests, and Gawain had acted on impulse. It seemed a good idea to capture her, to bring her to Badon...and yet, there was some regret. The knight looked at her slender form, her dirtied face and lonely appearance. It was pitiful. The dungeons did not suit her. He spoke again. "Arthur has ordered a physician to attend you at sunrise. He will fix your leg, and then..." The knight shrugged, looking back at his blade. "...then you become property of the Empire."

The knight spoke grimly, bitterly, and Madwen heard the hard edge of his sentence. Property of the Empire meant torture and pain. She would not escape this place with Gawain's help, and she fought back the tears that threatened her eyes. Why did he not help her? Why did he sit there...so cockily, so secure, so safe? Madwen was no longer safe, and she pulled one knee tighter into her chest. There was a drip of water nearby, and she looked up at the dark ceiling. The fortifications of Badon were poor, leaking, and she could hardly breathe through the damp.

"Arthur will fix my leg...to break it once more?" She spoke coldly. "If I had killed you when we first met, I would not be here now. I would be home."

Gawain had made her weak, and the sudden realisation struck her features. Her lips drew into a thin line, and her blue eyes pierced dangerously towards him. Oh, how she hated his carefree nature. She was surprised however, when he got to his feet, and moved along the bars. He seemed to ignore her words, and for a moment, Madwen thought he was leaving her here. He turned to a centurion guard, and gestured to her cell. She lifted her chin. Surely he would not open it? The guard seemed reluctant, but eventually the Woad heard the steely clank of keys, and the rusty scream as the key pressed into the lock. The cell door swung open, and Gawain's large form shadowed the entrance.

He would kill her?

Madwen saw the dagger in his hand, and she cowered backwards against the wall. She winced her eyes shut, in...fear? No, she wanted to die. She would rather be murdered by a Sarmatian, than be reduced to a pathetic wreck at Roman hands. The woman drew a hiss of breath. She heard his booted feet upon the stone, and the movement beside her. This was it? The female Woad turned her face into the wall, and prepared herself for a blow. Something, anything. It would surely be quick, and then it was over. The moment of death was the discovery of peace...and yet, Gawain did nothing. He crouched down beside her, and grabbed her knee hard. Without sympathy, he tugged her bad leg flat onto the stony ground, and Madwen opened her eyes sharply. She frowned at him. What on earth was he doing? His strong and callused fingers moved down to the woman's ankle, and she winced hard. He touched her swollen injury roughly, and Madwen cried out. She drew her leg back up to her chest, and shouted. With all her heart and soul.

"Get off me! Do not touch me! Unless you mean to kill me...!"

Gawain heard the damned guard come into the cell, and he turned angrily to the man. His green eyes were hard with impatience, and he pointed to the cell's door. "Get out!" He ordered the man, and indeed, the Roman obeyed. The Sarmatian was slightly taken aback, but then...molesting women was a sport for many guards. Gawain's lips tightened, and he turned back to Madwen. No, he would not kill her, but she regretted saving his life? It was too late, and Gawain should not care. The physician was due in the morning, and yet he lacked the patience to wait.

"Keep still Madwen, or I'll break the other one." Gawain's voice was rough, and he lifted his brows at her. Her eyes widened in horror, and Gawain watched as she slid her leg back onto the ground. He forced a smile to his lips, and then lifted her leg into his lap. He ghosted his rough fingertips along her shin, searching for swelling. He found it. The joint of her ankle had doubled in size, and the flesh was pulsing hot. Gawain frowned down at the injury, knowing he could do nothing. He knew a break when he saw it, and this was entirely his own fault. He remembered treading heavily on her. During times of war, he was governed by passion and bloodlust alone...and yet here were the results. Madwen was alone in this godforsaken dungeon, and she could barely move. He spoke quietly. "I do not have the tools to fix it myself, but it _is _broken. You must _not _try and stand on it."

He looked up at Madwen, and her eyes were dull as she listened. The knight reached his fingers up into the hair covering her face, and brushed it backwards over her head. The Woad did not seek to stop him, but rather nodded reluctantly. He was right. Damn him.

"You will not leave me here please? I do not want to die in here." She whispered it. Her grasp of their language was terrible, and Gawain smiled. She was quite beautiful. He had first seen her underneath all the war paint, and she reminded him of the coltish girls of his tribe. Madwen had spirit. It would be sad to see it broken by Rome, but what could Gawain do? Face a whipping for freeing a prisoner? No. He could not. Madwen was not the last woman to be captured by the Empire, and she would not be the last. Gawain just hoped that Arthur was gentle with her. She appeared threatening, and she spat words of aggression, but she was soft. Vulnerable. Just a woman. Gawain got to his feet, and Madwen moved forwards, wrapping her fingers around his boot and clinging hard. She did not want to be alone, not here.

Gawain glanced down at the blue woman, and his jaw tightened. His green eyes shot quickly to the bars of her cell, suspicious that the Roman guard was listening. If Gawain set her free, she would never make it out of the fortress alive. It was one of the biggest Roman strongholds in Briton, and guarded bloody well. She could fight her way to the gates, and then be shot down whilst trying to flee. No, he could not help her. With a hard movement, Gawain kicked the woman away from him, and hissed down at her. "How am I supposed to help you exactly? Throw you over my shoulder, and march you to my room? Harbour a criminal, a captive?" The Sarmatian turned away. "I value my life, however pretty you are."

"She givin' you trubble?" A voice spoke from the cell's entrance, and Gawain recognised a second guard. The centurion stank of ale, and as he approached the Sarmatian, he staggered awkwardly. His gaze was dazzled, and his stubbled chin was shiny with spittle. Madwen opened her eyes widely, and backed up against the wall. Her crippled ankle was throbbing, painfully, and yet the Woad was more concerned about their Roman visitor. By the look on Gawain's face, he appeared annoyed at the intrusion.

The Sarmatian wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Does Arthur know you're drunk on duty soldier?"

The Roman stopped, and Madwen held her breath. She found herself moving along the wall, closer to Gawain, and eventually stopped beneath his tall and muscular form. The woman reached out tentatively, and wrapped her arms around his strong leg. She felt the solid muscle against her forearm, and she looked upwards at the two men. Her blue eyes were bright in the darkness, shining upwards. The Roman became angry. Madwen watched him stagger sideways, and then shout in Gawain's direction. "Arthur don't know nuthin'! And anyway, I've only had a sip..."

That was it. Gawain opened his lips to swear, to curse the man. He felt Madwen cower between his legs, and yet he did not move. She was right to be afraid. It was bastards like these that slaughtered for enjoyment, for pleasure, and they knew nothing of true sacrifice. Gawain had killed many. The murders of the innocent kept him awake at night, and the only cure? Plenty of ale, and a busty barmaid in his bed. The Sarmatian's jaw hardened visibly, and he did not speak. No, he reached down and grabbed Madwen by the wrist. He pulled her upwards, lifting Madwen up into his chest, and turning to carry her out of the cell. The Roman protested, and indeed, his comrade thought to block Gawain's path. Oh, he should not dare. The Sarmatian stopped, and looked the man hard in the eye. "I'll take her for the night, and you? You'll keep your mouth shut," he cast a disapproving look at his drunken companion, leaning awkwardly against the cells. "We wouldn't want Arthur finding out about your friend's little indiscretion, would we?"

The guard contemplated remaining firm. But he decided against it.

"What are you doing?" Madwen spoke into his neck.

"Saving your bloody life, woman." Gawain growled.


	4. Frustration

The rain fell heavy upon British soil, smashing down against the stone walls and wooden gate posts. The wind whipped about the narrow walkways, howling like a wild and angry beast. It seemed even the seasons were at war with Rome, but it would do no good. Rome was an Empire, and it raped and killed wherever it went. No land was safe, least of all small and barbaric Briton. Gawain hated it here. He hated the biting cold and the unpredictable weather. His thick breeches were sodden with rain, and hot raindrops dribbled down the back of his tunic. He had just taken a Woad prisoner from the dungeons, and completely disregarded Arthur's orders. The realisation hit him as he was walking, and his features grew hard. He pushed forwards against the rainy weather, and pulled Madwen tighter into his broad chest. He felt her small hand reach up and wrap itself about his neck, and his mouth tightened into a grimace. She did not speak, and he was bloody glad. The woman was going to get him into alot of trouble, and he was not going to let her forget it.

What the hell was he doing?

The knights quarters were up ahead, and he ducked into the dark doorway, pausing to listen for company. It seemed everyone was in the tavern, and why wasn't he? He should be guzzling ale and eyeing up the whores, not saving a Woad woman from rape and abuse within her cell. It was not his business. Rome was not his business either, but somehow he always got roped into giving a shit.

With a hard kick, he forced open the small door into his room, and heard it splinter against his foot. The knights quarters were minimal. A pathetic bed rested in the corner, made from a pile of straw and a few furs spread awkwardly upon it. A small table was placed beside it, one leg missing and replaced by an empty ale drum. It was home, but he rarely saw it. The knight was always on campaign with Arthur, and sometimes sleeping in the woodland was more comfortable than this!

He dropped Madwen onto his bed, and heard her grunt as she thudded down onto it. The little devil woman sprang up quickly and pulled herself into the corner. She tucked her knees up into her chest, and stared up at him. Imploring.

"Why you help me?" She asked, half with fright. The knight towered above her, and his shadow covered her like hard domination. Her long hair was matted with dirt and blood, and her eyes were swollen. Why was he helping her? It made no sense! He had taken her captive!

"Good bloody question." He answered brusquely. "You're causing me problems woman."

Gawain turned away from her, and walked to the opposite wall. He leant against it. The Sarmatian stared at her with dark green eyes, intensely vivid in the darkness. He studied her carefully, and then cursed under his breath. This was ridiculous. He had made a mistake, and he half considered taking her back to her bloody cell to rot. She was pretty, and pretty women were trouble. Especially if they were Woad, and almost certainly his enemy. He leant his head back against the wall, and rolled his eyes. This was a terrible idea...

"What will they do with me?" Madwen spoke quietly, and relaxed her legs onto the floor. Her broken ankle lay at an awkward angle, and throbbed against her skin. Her lashes lowered as she studied it. Could she escape with such injuries? No.

"Kill you probably." Gawain shrugged. The words were spoken casually, but truthfully. The knight did not open his eyes. He did not see Madwen's eyes widen with terror, or her lower lip tremble at his words. The man shrugged again, and lolled his head to the side. He opened his eyes lazily, flashing green with sarcastic amusement. "But at least you can spend one more night with me, eh?"

"You pig!" She growled. "Not if it was my last night on this earth!"

"It could be." He smirked, and shut his eyes once more. A flash of lightning lit up the room, and rumbled across the outside sky. Madwen felt it in her bones. Gawain had caught her, and brought her here. It was his fault! How dare he? The woman parted her lips to speak, but Gawain interrupted her.

"Go to sleep, Madwen."

Gawain did not sleep. He listened to Madwen struggle to get comfortable, and smiled in the darkness. She amused him, despite not being his problem. She breathed quietly in her sleep, and occasionally whimpered when her movements pressed against her injured ankle. Opening his eyes, he looked at her dark form on the bed. Approaching quietly, he watched her sleep. Her features were relaxed, soft, and not tainted with anger or defensiveness. Her eyelashes kissed against her cheekbones, and her lips were parted to breathe. She was...oddly alluring, but Gawain had no time for it. Turning on his heel, he left the room, and walked towards the tavern. The rain had slowed, but the wind was biting cold. He gritted his teeth, following the noise of drinking and laughter through the streets. He needed a stiff drink, something to make him forget the pretty little Woad prisoner in his room.

"Gawain..." A silky voice spoke in the darkness, and Gawain looked to his side. He knew that voice. "I have been looking for you..."

A golden-haired female emerged from a nearby doorway, and Gawain lifted his gaze. His dreadlocks were soaked with rain, and his beard was decorated with silvery raindrops. He stared down at the woman before him, and a rough smile formed on his mouth.

"Shayla." He spoke gruffly. His eyes turned towards the sound of the tavern, but then returned to the woman before him. She was a Briton, a lowly tavern wench whom he'd been dallying with for many years. She was deliciously curvaceous and her hips swayed as she walked close to him, pressing her womanly body against his masculine form. Gawain laughed roughly. Yes, he needed this. A distraction. He curled his strong arm around the woman's waist. She smiled widely, smitten, and her blue eyes sparkled up at him.

"I have been thinking about you, my love," she sighed, touching his face with small fingers. "Why did you not come to my room? I have been waiting for you..."

Gawain did not answer. He did not want to. Shayla was a way of passing the time, and although very pretty and willing, she had failed to steal his affection. She was the woman who warmed him at night, and released the tension from his virile loins. Gawain pulled her roughly into his body, and growled into her neck. She smelled clean, of lavender, and the Sarmatian found himself disappointed. Why? He sought the earthen smell of another woman, a more barbaric one. Madwen? No. She would be dead soon and forgotten.

Gawain ignored his thoughts. Shayla was loyal and willing, but she lacked the feistiness of his Woad prisoner. The Sarmatian frowned, attempting to control his thoughts. He had not drunk enough ale today, and he quickly reminded himself of his position. He was Sarmatian, and had been responsible for taking Madwen prisoner. He had brought her here, to certain death. It was the wrong time to start regretting it.

"I was tending to a prisoner. No-one important." He spoke roughly, and opened his lips on her neck. The woman whimpered, and he felt her melt into his chest. Gawain backed her into the wall behind them, and lifted her up against him. She parted her legs around his hips, and Gawain slid a rough hand up her thighs, lifting her skirts. Her flesh was hot against his touch, and willing. The Sarmatian reached down to his breeches, and began tugging them open. In truth, he was frustrated, but not because of Shayla. He would be in trouble for taking Madwen from her cell, and the Woad was annoyingly attractive. Perhaps it had been too long since his last wench? The Sarmatian knew not, but Shayla was parting her legs, and Gawain pressed hard against her. His cock swelled and pressed against the leather of his breeches.

Shayla opened her mouth to speak, but Gawain silenced her with a ferocious kiss. He hungrily sought her lips, grazing his beard over her pretty little chin. She sighed against him, and Gawain undid his breeches quickly and awkwardly. He freed his cock, and sought her hot warmth. A guttural groan bellowed from his lips, and he bit down onto her small lips. In truth, he did not care for her wants or desires. Gawain was frustrated. As he pounded into the woman's small frame, his mind strayed to the blue Woad in his bed. Again. He had listened to her sleeping, and he could have taken her. He could have rolled her onto her back, and drawn her legs roughly apart. Oh, but she was feral, and wild, and Shayla was not. The pretty woman felt hot inside, burning around his manhood...but she did not inspire the same lust as Madwen. She was...different. He wanted the challenge, the spitting of words...

"Tell me to stop Shayla..." He breathed into her mouth, knowing that Madwen would have fought him off. She would have struggled, cursed...and then surrendered.

"What?" The woman stopped grinding against him, and turned her face away from his kisses. The Sarmatian reached up and grabbed her face, pulling her back to his mouth...but she yanked away, and wrenched awkwardly from his grip.

It was over, and Gawain knew it. He pressed his palm flat against the wall, and watched as Shayla pulled down her skirts, attempting to smooth the creases. The look on her face was confusion, upset, and Gawain frowned. A raindrop dribbled down his dewy forehead, and caught itself in his eyebrow, resting there. Why did women have to have feelings? Why couldn't they just get on with it? He was a Knight, and he wanted satisfaction. Shayla was supposed to supply it.

She took a step closer to him. "You are not yourself. What's wrong?"

"Forget it." Gawain spoke roughly, pushing off from the wall, and turning his back on the woman. He felt her touch his arm, and he turned on her, cursing. "Go back to the tavern woman. I am done with you."

A look of shock crossed over Shayla's face, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, confused. Gawain did not care. He shrugged his shoulders, and walked away from her, ignoring her protests. Shayla was entertainment, but she did not please him tonight. No-one did. He did not walk to the tavern, but rather headed back to the knights rooms. Madwen was his concern, and the trouble she was causing him. Damn it, but he could not fuck a woman tonight, and Arthur would punish him tomorrow for removing the prisoner from her cell. He was fucked, and he knew it. Shayla had not bothered to follow him, and he was bloody relieved. His cock still throbbed with want, and...

"Fuck!" He shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he ducked into the knights quarters. He forced open his bedroom door with a loud crash, and Madwen sprang up out of sleep. She reached down to grab a dagger from her boot, but realised there was none. Gawain growled at her, and turned to stand against the wall again. His cock was throbbing against his breeches, and Madwen stared at him in the darkness. Gawain did not speak a word. Her lithe form was accentuated in the darkness, and she retained an air of defensiveness. Perhaps it was lust that made her alluring? Gawain knew not.

"I did not know you left me." She stated, breaking the cold and strained silence. "You have been drinking?"

"No." Gawain answered roughly, continuing to glare at his Woad captive. He did not fancy explaining himself. The Sarmatian stood in the darkness, and smoothed a hand down his damp and braided beard. It was cold in this room.

Madwen retorted quickly through gritted teeth, ignoring his denial. "Is that how you forget the British blood you have spilled? You get drunk. Does it work?"

What?

Gawain could not believe it. She was insulting him already? After he had saved her bloody life! He moved suddenly, coming towards her. She cowered and the Sarmatian grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her upwards onto her feet. She squealed as her injured ankle pressed against the ground, but Gawain paid no heed. How dare she? He had saved her from bloody rape and allowed her safety for one night! His eyes were alive with green fire, and he glared down into her face, daring her to piss him off. To push him further. She had already cost him a fuck...

"I saved your life, and now you taunt me." He shouted, aware of the spittle that came from his mouth. Madwen met his gaze, defiantly. Her pale blue face was stern, but Gawain knew she was frightened. She stared at him through matted hair.

"I don't want saving. I want death!" Her voice was cold. "The Roman will kill me, so why not? I am more than ready for death..."

Gawain heard her words, and he knew the truth in them. She was a soldier of Briton, but she was broken. The bitch challenged him because she wanted him to put her out of her misery. Rome would put her to death, but Arthur was a good man. If she behaved, she might survive...but this woman did not behave. She fought and fought and fought. Even now, with her injuries, she pushed the Sarmatian to anger, and the man wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt her for making him weak...and aroused. Holding her up limply, he was rock hard within his breeches, and he wanted her. Her eyes challenged him, and he wanted to be inside her. He wanted her to challenge him whilst he took her body for himself.

"Kill me." She urged through her teeth, her jaw hard in her desperation.

"No."

Gawain dropped her onto the floor, in a crumpled heap. She fell down beside his booted feet, and the Sarmatian kicked her away from him.

Madwen was his enemy, and he could not help her.

Her fate was in Arthur's hands.

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. There was no peace for him tonight.


	5. Lancelot

Women were a nuisance. Whore, maiden, servant...or bloody Woad. They were all the same, and equally as troublesome. Gawain sat on the floor outside his room, back against the wall and feet spread out on the cold floor. A Woad had taken his bed tonight, and he wasn't in it. It was a bloody joke! His swollen arousal pressed painfully against the leather of his breeches, and he growled beneath his breath. Why had he bothered saving her? She was a dead woman. Madwen knew she'd be interrogated and probably murdered afterwards. She was Rome's bitch now, and Gawain had taken her captive. He had brought the little woman here, to her death...and did he regret it? No. His bearded jaw was set in a hard line, and an irritated vein pulsed in his dewy neck. He both hated and liked having her around. She had gotten under his skin...but _like_ her? There was nothing endearing about her personality or manners...but her sweet little body and coltish mouth?

Gawain liked it, and his body responded.

"Gawain! Where have you been? Entertaining women without me...?" A drunken voice slurred from the doorway, and the Sarmatian looked up. It was Lancelot, grinning boyishly. The dark Sarmatian had a rather busty looking blonde with him, and Gawain lifted his brows in amusement. Lancelot was predictable.

"I was busy." Gawain answered brusquely, not bothering to explain himself. He shrugged his shoulders, and eyed the bottle of ale in Lancelot's hand. He had lost his own, somewhere between rescuing Madwen from the dungeons and bringing her here.

The dark Sarmatian followed his gaze to the ale, and lifted it clearer into sight. He shook it, gesturing that the bottle was half full, and that perhaps Gawain should share it. But the woman beside him had other ideas. She grabbed it hastily. Uncorking it with her teeth, she began pouring it wantonly into her mouth. The woman was drunk, swaying on her feet, and it seemed Lancelot held her upwards. Without his strong arm curled about her waist, she would collapse and fall. He watched her with amusement, dark eyes dancing in the dark.

"Gawain, meet Eleni." He introduced, smirking. "I was going to keep her all to myself, but if you fancied some fun? I'm sure this woman could entertain..."

"I ain't for sharing!" The woman retorted sharply, and Lancelot tugged the bottle from her lips. He lifted it to his own mouth, and then spoke softly to her. Mocking.

"Of course you're not!" He laughed. "A woman of your position is worth more than a drunken fumble with two Sarmatian knights!" Lancelot was joking, and he glanced down at the woman's ale-stained dress and muddy hem. The woman was a typical bar woman. Drunk, easy...and simple. Gawain had bedded plenty of them. They lifted their skirts for anyone, and then fled in the morning, mumbling something about behaving 'proper.' It had been fun for Gawain. Once.

"I'd rather have the ale," Gawain shrugged, and turned away from the pair.

"What do you mean by that?" The woman spat, slurring. Lancelot released her, and watched her stumble towards Gawain. The dark knight clearly found it all very amusing, and Gawain exchanged an unimpressed look with him. Gawain was in no mood to argue, or argue with this common wench. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Lancelot, control your woman." Gawain did not care. He tipped his head back against the wall.

Lancelot strode forwards, sweeping the angry lady up into his arms and pressing a strong hand over her mouth. He gagged her with his calloused palm, and Gawain shook his head. "Do you always gag your women before bed?"

"It's either that or cut out their tongues?" Lancelot winked, and the woman struggled harder, faster. Her eyes widened against his grasp, and she attempted to wrench away from him. Lancelot released her, and watched as she fled. The dark knight did not seem bothered, or worried. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a step towards Gawain. His brother-in-arms seemed odd, distracted. It was not friendship that kept him there, but rather an amused curiosity. Lancelot liked to tease and frustrate the other knights. It must be rather unfortunate being Rome's slave...and ugly too. Lancelot could take any woman he pleased, and he always found 'taken' women far more attractive. He'd stolen women from Bors more than once.

"Who is she then?" Lancelot asked, assuming Gawain's foul mood was the product of a woman. He secretly wondered who it was, and if he'd already bedded her. Lancelot liked to be the first for most women. Had he bedded Gawain's woman already? He hoped so.

Gawain did not answer, but rather helped himself to the bottle of ale from Lancelot's hand. He swigged it back, enjoying the burning heat of it in his throat and stomach. Gawain did not want to talk about women to Lancelot, not now, not anytime. If the dark knight knew Gawain was hiding a Woad hostage in his room? There would be hell. Lancelot was good at keeping secrets, but Gawain did not trust him for other reasons. Madwen was Gawain's responsibility, not Lancelot's. Gawain shifted in his seat, suddenly aware that Madwen slept merely metres away from their sitting place. He moved along the wall a little, placing himself purposely in front of the door. If Madwen should seek to roam the fortress, she'd have to get past him first.

"With all due respect, you smug bastard," Gawain said, lifting his brows incredulously. "You would be the last person I'd seek in the case of woman troubles."

"Pity." Lancelot retorted. "I'm growing bored of the women in this fortress. Fancied myself something a little bit different..."

"A boy then?" Gawain laughed.

"Fuck off."

The knights laughed, and shared the ale. The Sun was rising over the Great Wall, casting flickering shadows upon the thatched roofs and market stalls. People would begin to stir soon, and the day would begin. The smell of roasting meat would fill the air, and the spices from the market would mingle with it. Badon Hill was full of activity during the day; it thrived. Stablehands rushed hay from one stall to the next, and centurion guards marched atop the wall, looking to the border for any sign of the enemy. They would be lucky to survive the day without rain, but life would go on. It always did.

And with the day?

Arthur.

And Madwen.

"I'm in the shit." Gawain spoke aloud, and smoothed a hand over his beard. He should never have taken Madwen from her cell. It was a mistake. It would provoke too many questions, and Gawain didn't have time for it. He wanted to serve his time and then return home. How difficult could it be?

"We're all in the bloody shit." Lancelot laughed, and crossed his arms across his chest. He looked at Gawain from beneath dark and unruly curls. "I don't care what you've done. It's not my business, but you better tell Arthur before he finds out for himself."

Gawain cursed. He got to his feet, and looked at Lancelot. The First Knight was bloody right, and Gawain hated it. Madwen should have been left in her cell, but with drunken and lusty Romans? It wasn't right, but it wasn't his bloody business either. The woman had been entertainment, fun, and now she was interfering in his life. His decisions. Sarmatia had nothing to do with Rome and its petty wars, not really. Gawain needed to survive his service because he wanted home. He yearned for Sarmatia more than he cared to admit. Briton made him weary, and Madwen was Briton. She was the country that enslaved him.

"I took the Woad woman from her cell." He stated, guiltily and turned his eyes away from Lancelot.

Gawain knew it had been a stupid decision, and he awaited the Sarmatian's reaction. A laugh, a curse...anything...

"Why in hell would you do something like that?" Lancelot sounded calm, but there was amusement in his voice. Gawain heard it, and shook his head. Why? He didn't know himself.

"The guards were drunk, and..." Gawain stumbled, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck! I don't know! I took her captive, and I didn't want the Romans to...you know..."

"I do know." Lancelot laughed. "You were worried they'd make her their plaything before you had the chance yourself..."

Gawain didn't answer, and that was testimony enough. Lancelot slapped the wall, laughing.

"You've already had her haven't you?" Lancelot looked impressed. "We are more alike than you realise, Gawain. Where is the little beast now?"

Lancelot did not wait for a response. He pushed open the door to Gawain's room, and peered in. His dark eyes rested upon something on his bed, and he laughed again. Gawain leant back against the wall, and shut his eyes. He regretted saying anything to Lancelot, but he also knew that Lancelot had Arthur's trust. Surely he'd know what to do? The Sarmatian breathed a heavy sigh, and followed Lancelot into his room...


	6. Your Responsibility

Madwen was restless. Her injured body would not relax comfortably, and she was constantly aware of sound and movements nearby. She heard people pass through the corridor outside Gawain's room, and dreaded that someone might find her there. She was Woad, and therefore enemy. The woman had not wanted Gawain to leave, because without him? She was defenceless. Her ankle was broken, snapped and splintered to the bone. Madwen could barely move, and the thought frightened her. Like it or not, she was indebted to the handsome Sarmatian. The Roman guards would have toyed with her. She was a woman, and a prisoner. No-one would protect a savage, and she had been extremely lucky. But...did she owe Gawain? Perhaps, but she would not admit it. Never. The Sarmatian taunted her with random acts of kindness, and then he'd prove how little he cared. He'd mock her with arrogance and cheeky innuendo. The man was...impossible to read.

It mattered not. She would be dead before the next Sunrise, and she was certain of it.

Gawain might have saved her once, but he was not a Roman. His authority was obsolete in the presence of a Roman official.

Closing her eyes in the dark room, she breathed a sigh from her lips. Her arms were folded protectively over her small breasts, and her blue skin was patchy and mottled. She considered an escape plan, and the prospect was appealing. Madwen could find a stable, a store room, anything, and bide her time. Hadrian's Wall was a large and imposing fortification, but every stronghold had its weak spots. Madwen could surely find it?

The woman made a decision. Shuffling towards the doorway, Madwen reached up to the cold stone walls and attempted to lift herself up. Her foot and ankle were painfully swollen, and pressed uncomfortably into the fabric of her boots. She winced, struggling, but her body lacked the strength. She could not pull herself onto her feet, not now. Madwen was stuck, and she cursed loudly. She slapped her hand angrily against the stone ground.

She could NOT die here!

It was then, as she lay defeated on the ground...that the door swung open. A dark figure loomed in the doorway, and Madwen's eyes adjusted to the light. It was not Gawain. It was another knight. The man was tall, dark and peered down at her with glittering eyes of liquid black. There was an amused glint in his eyes, and Gawain appeared behind him, looking frustrated. Madwen looked anxiously between the two, and waited.

Was this what death looked like?

"I can see why you took her," the dark figure spoke, looking at Madwen and smirking approvingly. Gawain shoved the knight in the back, pushing him into the room. Madwen attempted to catch the door as it swung closed, but to no avail. Gawain gave it a kick, shutting it firmly behind him.

"Lancelot," Gawain spoke darkly, levelling the knight with a hard and serious gaze. "I think you were about to give me advice."

"Ah yes!" The knight replied, turning his attention away from Madwen. Madwen looked up his impressive form, and eyed the two swords strapped to his back. The man seemed to think himself very clever, and she sized him up. If she had her full strength and agility, could she have killed him? Madwen frowned. Lancelot spoke again. "Take her to Arthur. Before he finds her missing and alerts the whole fortress."

Gawain nodded, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked frustrated, and Madwen pressed her lips together tightly. In truth, Gawain had risked alot in saving her, but to feel sorry for him? The Woad did not sympathise. She listened carefully to the two men, and awaited Gawain's answer. Would he turn her over? Of course he would. He was a weak Sarmatian, and Rome's best slave.

"I can't believe I'm listening to you," Gawain mumbled, nodding in defeat. He glanced down at Madwen, and his look was blank.

The Woad frowned up at him.

"I cannot believe you are handing me over so easily!" She spat, and lifted her chin arrogantly. Her words were confident, nasty, but she felt upset...and sick. What had she expected? Freedom? She'd been so stupid to trust him!

"By God, she has a voice!" Lancelot smirked, and turned to look down at her. "Be quiet darling, this is man's talk, and you're _not_ one. You've already got Gawain in enough trouble for one day..."

"Lancelot..." Gawain warned. Madwen glared up at the dark knight, and did not break his gaze. Gawain broke the space between them, and hoisted her up by her arm. Madwen struggled in his grip, but it was useless. Gawain's calloused fingers bit into her skin. She was being taken to the Roman, and certain death.

"Why? Why are you listening to him?" Madwen questioned, leaning her weight into Gawain's muscly side. She looked up at him, attempting to appear angry, nasty, anything. But her expression was desperate. "I won't go. I swear. You'll have to kill me first." Madwen struggled, and Gawain wrenched her tightly into his chest. When that didn't work, he hoisted her up into his arms and threw her over his shoulder. Madwen kicked her knee into his chest, but the Sarmatian ignored it.

"She's quite the fighter. I can see why you like her," Lancelot observed, watching Madwen with amusement. "Look at those tight little thighs..."

Gawain spun on Lancelot, just as Madwen lunged towards Lancelot. How dare he? Madwen wanted to smash the man's smile off, and she jerked against Gawain's grip, pulling herself forwards on Gawain's shoulder. To no avail. Gawain, however, had a look of rage on his face. His jaw was set hard, and he bared his teeth at his brother-in-arms.

"My business is my business, Lancelot. It has nothing to do with you..." he said, roughly.

Lancelot shrugged, an amused smile on his mouth. He was testing Gawain, and he was playing right into the dark knight's hands. Why would Gawain take a girl from the dungeon, risking his life to protect her? The Sarmatian was weak for her. It was devastatingly obvious, and Lancelot found it hilarious.

They walked to Arthur's quarters, and Gawain was as silent as stone. His lips were pressed tightly together, and Madwen hung limply over his shoulders. Lancelot spoke incessantly about the tavern and girls at the fort, and rubbed his hands against the cold. The dark knight was enjoying himself, but Gawain's mind was racing. Madwen would have to face Arthur either way, and in truth, he had saved her from the Roman guards. She had saved his life once, and now he returned the favour.

They were even...but she was getting under his skin. He couldn't even shag a common whore. It was because she was here, nearby, and he was aware of it. It would be fine once Arthur had dealt with her, however that may be. The Commander was merciful, and Gawain trusted he would do the right thing. Madwen would leave the fortress one way or another, whether she was buried in the ground or freed back to her people. She was not his problem, not truly.

Arthur's quarters were a small walk away, and they reached them quickly. Lancelot left Gawain to it, squeezing his soldier reassuringly. He winked at Madwen, and watched them disappear into the dark doorway. Arthur would be lenient. He was a good man, but he still had a duty to Rome. Gawain had kidnapped a prisoner from the dungeon, but surely with good enough reason?

Gawain came to a halt in front of Arthur's door, and rapped with his knuckles. The wood felt cold and hard against his skin.

"Come in," Arthur's voice beckoned from inside.

Gawain turned his head to Madwen before entering, and spoke roughly. "Keep your mouth shut."

Madwen narrowed her eyes at him.

Gawain entered Arthur's room, immediately aware of Arthur sat at his desk. He was writing a scroll, and held a feathered quill between thumb and forefinger. A candle burnt nearby, casting flickering shadows across the wall, and along the stern line of the Roman's jaw. His green eyes looked up at Gawain, and then immediately rested upon the Woad woman slung over his shoulder. The Roman leant back in his seat, and smoothed a hand over his jaw.

"Gawain," he voiced sternly, but his lifted eyebrows encouraged an explanation.

"Arthur," Gawain spoke. "I took the Woad from her cell…" The words died on his lips, and he felt Madwen tense over his shoulder. The Sarmatian did not speak further, and Arthur nodded. Arthur got up slowly and rested his quill back down onto the desk. He came around to Gawain.

"Bring her here, Gawain," he gestured to a large wooden chair, and leant back against the desk. His crossed his booted feet, and folded his arms across his broad chest. "I'm entirely sure you had your reasons, but you should not have done it. The guards on duty have already complained."

Arthur pressed his lips together tightly, and watched as Gawain lowered Madwen into the chair. The Sarmatian looked up when he heard the guards had reported him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur lifted his hand, gesturing him to silence.

"I also know that they were in no way fit for duty." Arthur finished, and Gawain stepped back. They had been drunk, exceptionally so.

"She's hurt." Gawain spoke quietly, and Arthur approached Madwen slowly. The woman sat curled up in the seat, and Arthur frowned. He crouched down before her, and placed a firm hand on her injured leg, stretching it out gently. The Woad whimpered, and Arthur looked up at her, silently consoling her.

"It's broken." He spoke up to her, and Madwen looked down at the Roman. Her eyes were wide with fear, but also…surprise. Arthur Castus was famous in Briton; the man that murdered his own people. And yet he did not demand for her death. He crouched down before her, and studied her broken ankle. He turned it over in his rough hands, and looked over to Gawain. "She'll need to splint it, and keep it straight. If she intends to walk again."

Gawain frowned down at Madwen and Arthur. He saw Madwen's expression, and it made him want to laugh. She had expected Arthur to be a monster of a man, and indeed, Gawain had thought the same. But the Sarmatian had grown up with Arthur and the Knights, and their bond was thicker than blood. They had saved each other in battle many times, and fought side by side in bloody war. Arthur had gained his men's respect, because he was also a soldier. His nobility seemed of no consequence. He was a combatant, like them all. Gawain watched as Arthur reached up to his desk, and took a piece of wood in his hands. It had been meant for the fire, but it was straight and thick. He held it against the Woad's ankle, and gestured for Gawain to fetch a leather strap from his trunk. It was a worn stirrup leather, but it fitted well around Madwen's foot. He tied the wood into place.

"Better?" Arthur got to his feet, and analysed his handiwork. Madwen did not answer him, but rather stared upwards, dumbfounded.

Gawain spoke. "She does not speak much, Arthur."

Arthur looked at Gawain, and frowned. "You did a good thing today, Gawain. You showed compassion for your enemy, which is no small feat."

Gawain folded his arms, and nodded awkwardly. He was not sure entirely why he had saved Madwen, but the reasons were not entirely compassionate. The Sarmatian lusted for her, and his body ached in her company, but he refused to accept Arthur's compliment. Arthur was a good man; Gawain was a soldier. He did what he had to, and was driven by base instinct.

"What will you do with her?" Gawain asked, changing the subject.

Arthur turned away at the question, and looked down at Madwen. The Woad woman had not moved her feet, but rather looked up. Her eyes were wide, bright, but her brow was furrowed with worry. Arthur smoothed a hand over his jaw, and nodded to himself.

"She is your responsibility for now." The Roman stated. "Before she is sent home. I must speak to her about Merlin, but…not today." Arthur looked down at the woman. "She needs rest first, and _you _will oversee it."

Gawain's expression did not change, and he knew better than to protest. The Sarmatian avoided Madwen's gaze, because he did not trust himself to be silent. The woman was beautiful, coltish, but also troublesome and a distraction. Arthur surely knew this? He also knew that Gawain had rescued her from drunken soldiers and abuse…which made him compassionate and trustworthy. Oh yes, he was trustworthy, but he did not trust himself. Not around Madwen, and it also meant avoiding questions from his comrades. She would be a burden on everything he did, but Gawain was a Sarmatian. He took orders and he obeyed them.

"She will be safe with me, Arthur." Gawain confirmed, and Arthur nodded.

"She can stay in the infirmary." The Roman suggested. "I want her under constant supervision. There are people in this fortress who will not understand why I have kept her alive, and…" He looked at the Woad woman, and his face grew hard, serious. "I am showing you compassion, but do not mistake it for weakness. If any trouble comes to my men or the people of this fortress, and you are found responsible? I may not be so merciful. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Madwen answered, but the reluctance was clear on her face. She was Woad, and Rome was not her friend. Gawain was well aware of her stubbornness, but he would watch her like a hawk. Whether he liked it or not, she was his responsibility. For a while anyway.

"Good. Then that is all." Arthur dismissed them, and Gawain lifted Madwen from the seat. She looped an arm about his neck, and the two left in silence.

Arthur's door shut firmly behind them, and Gawain walked onwards, in silence. Madwen opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it…


End file.
